


Imperio

by exarite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Auror Harry Potter, Corruption, Emotional Abuse not physical abuse or noncon, Enemies to Lovers, Exes, Getting Back Together, M/M, Manipulation, Moral Ambiguity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Politics, Power Imbalance, Sexual Tension, Undersecretary Tom Riddle, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/pseuds/exarite
Summary: Tom Riddle: disgraced Undersecretary to the Minister, finally arrested for his crimes. Harry Potter: the Auror in charge of his house arrest.Despite their sordid, secret past, Harry isn’t worried. After all, Riddle's magic is tracked and logged, and everything they had is behind them.There's no need to worry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> huge huge huge thanks to several people who've given me feedback on this and helped me gain confidence for it ❤️ Namely, Earth_Phoenix, RedHorse, Cybrid, StarsandHeavyRain, This_is_your_Heichou_speaking and dreikorg 💕

"Auror Potter," Riddle greeted amiably, a slow, serpentine smile curving his lips. Harry's jaw tightened as he stared down at the other man, at Riddle's form laid out languidly on his sofa, all long legs and elegance even in his sprawl. Harry hadn’t seen him since the Incident, and seeing him now…

It's jarring and just a little bit frightening to see how even in his jammies, Riddle managed to exude power, strength, and grace with something  _ dangerous _ lurking underneath. His was the sort of power that Harry couldn’t help but feel drawn to even as it left him torn between attraction and disgust.

"Riddle." Harry tried to keep his voice even, but there was a reason why he was ultimately sorted Gryffindor even though the Hat had considered him for Slytherin. Harry never could hide his emotions as well as he thought he could, and he knew with aching clarity that his façade wouldn't stand against Tom Riddle himself. Not after everything they'd been through.

"I've been behaving myself for you," Riddle told him, voice smooth as silk as he straightened up from his lounge, crossing one leg over the other. There was a teasing twist to his lips that set Harry's teeth on edge, made him anxious for reasons he couldn't put into his words.

"I appreciate it," Harry replied tightly. His gaze lingered on Riddle’s mouth before he forced his eyes away. Riddle's teasing smirk broadened, and embarrassment and shame filled Harry, both at looking and being caught. With an exaggerated flourish, Riddle gestured to the seat beside him and waited expectantly for Harry to take it.

Harry couldn't help but cast a few standard, silent detection charms on it, Moody's drilling of  _ constant vigilance!  _ clear in his mind. His check didn't go unnoticed. When he raised his eyes to meet Riddle's, Riddle smirked at him, clear amusement in his eyes. As if he was merely tolerating Harry’s wariness. It was the exact same, condescending expression he used to wear when Harry would ramble about Quidditch, but this time, Harry saw it for what it was.

Honestly. Harry couldn't help but think that even with the restrictions, if Riddle really wanted to do something that would hurt or maim him…well. Harry wouldn't even be able to blink beforehand, much less pull out his wand to check for traps.

And yet here he was, making his way to sit on the tasteful cream chair. Their knees just barely brushed before Harry immediately shied away from the solid length of Riddle's leg. He dropped his hands on the armrests, his nails digging in slightly on the plush fabric, the texture of it scratchy.

They stared at each other. Riddle, with endless patience. Harry, seeking and searching for what could possibly be Riddle’s endgame.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat and looked away. He couldn’t help but feel as if he had lost somehow, in a game he hadn’t even known he’d been playing. He shook it off. Without looking at Riddle, he pulled out his files and cleared his throat again, before he started to read it out loud.

“I’ll be the one handling you for now. As you know, you are not allowed to go beyond the property and any attempts to leave or even step outside of the boundary line will immediately notify us. Further restrictions will be placed on you should you do so.”

Riddle didn’t even bother to nod, his strange burgundy eyes half-lidded as he simply watched Harry drone on about the conditions of his house arrest, all conditions that he had already heard but Harry was required to repeat. He thought it tedious himself, honestly, and while he wasn’t quite one to follow protocol, there  _ were _ charms present recording their conversation. Anything he said would be noted and read by his higher-ups, and this case…Harry and Riddle…it was delicate enough without their interference.

If they knew just  _ how  _ close Riddle and Harry used to be 5 years ago, they would have never let Harry be the Auror in charge of him. Even if Harry had been the one to catch him.

“Any time you use your wand, it will be automatically logged and periodically reviewed. Should any Dark Arts be used, we will immediately be notified. The Ministry reserves the right to confiscate and/or snap your wand.” Harry didn’t envy the man in charge of reviewing the spells Riddle used, especially since Harry knew Riddle was the sort of bloke that relied on spells for the simplest things rather than getting up and doing it himself. He delighted in magic for magic's sake.

The one assigned to keep track of Riddle's spells was required to report any suspicious spells as well, but Harry knew that even the most innocuous, innocent of Light spells could be used badly in the wrong hands.

And Riddle’s hands were the definition of wrong. His gaze flickered to said hands, taking note of the width of them, his long, bony fingers. A pianist’s hands. Deceptively elegant, but his wrists were strong, the curl of his fingers around the back of the sofa sensual and thoughtless as he stroked at the fabric. Harry’s throat dried and he cleared it, pausing awkwardly mid-speech in his explanation of how generous the Ministry was in allowing him the use of his wand.

What tripe. Harry personally couldn’t understand why they didn’t just snap his wand and then throw him in Azkaban for what he did. Riddle raised an eyebrow at his continued silence and inwardly, Harry's lip curled in distaste.

No, never mind. He understood plenty. Riddle's influence and charm along with his followers' deep coffers and power in pureblood society guaranteed that he got off lighter than anyone else would in his position. The Potters weren't old money like the Blacks, and they were just barely pureblood—barring, of course, his mother's marriage into the family, first Muggleborn to do so—but even Harry understood how magical society worked.

Even if they had managed to arrest Riddle and get him on house arrest until the trial, anyone who thought that was the end of it was a fool. Riddle still had too much power, influence, and money, and not all of it was his. His followers were still loyal to him. He was close enough to be a Dark Lord that the masses were wary of him, especially after Grindelwald, but not nearly close enough that he wasn't able to sway public sympathy his way.

He was handsome and charming after all, even pushing 40. All his teachers could vouch how he was such a respectable, studious young man. Head Boy, with a record number of NEWTs. Magically talented with a brilliant mind that was seen only once in a generation. An efficient, charismatic politician, with a silver tongue, and a finger in every pie. He was set to be the next Minister, if he so wanted.

What a shame that he had been caught murdering the Minister in cold blood. What a shame that he had been caught in possession of various precious artifacts, with all their previous owners either dead or insistent that the items had been stolen from them. What a shame that Dumbledore himself had called for justice, and so soon after he defeated Grindelwald, no one dared to go against him.

_ It must be a mistake! _ The people had clamored.  _ Tom Riddle would never do anything like that! _

They knew _nothing_ of what Tom Riddle was capable of.

Harry was smart enough to know that in a few months time, Riddle would have gotten off scot-free, the trial in his favor, with nothing to say for his crimes except the memory of his house arrest. A fine, at most, with restrictions on him that wouldn't last nor mean anything in the long run. Harry would bet all the Galleons in the Potter vault that in 5 years, perhaps even less, Riddle would still be taking his spot in the Minister's seat.

"I will be dropping by once a day to check on you myself. We'll be seeing each other a lot before your trial." Harry's lips pursed. He had opinions on that, but he doubted that Riddle liked it any more than he did. His face was impassive though, nothing betraying his feelings on the strictness of the terms.

"And you won't allow me visitors?" Riddle asked, giving him a mild smile that sent shivers racing down Harry's spine. He swallowed.

"No, unfortunately. Any communication with outside persons is prohibited, including post, Floo, or any other means during the duration of your house arrest. I'll be the only one you're allowed to see. Food and other supplies will be delivered on a set schedule. Everything you need will be provided for." Harry was simply reading the terms out loud, doing his job, but he couldn't help but feel like a right prat for the overly formal use of words.

"I'm pleased that you'll keep me for being too…lonely," Riddle murmured, his eyes boring into Harry's. Harry's stomach clenched at his tone. It was bordering on flirtatious, and Riddle had given up the right to use that tone with him. To hear it now…Harry didn’t want to examine his reactions too closely, lest his mind betray him as his body already had in its desires.

"That's not really part of the job description," Harry responded, smiling thinly. Riddle smiled back at him, a close-lipped smile that held no warmth. His eyes seemed to shutter off, losing their intense quality, and despite himself, Harry couldn't help but relax a bit, his muscles loosening from their tightly coiled spring.

"Anyway, that's all for today." Harry stood up abruptly, brushing his pants. He fidgeted with the cloth of his robes and nodded at Riddle. "Thank you for your time. I'll be back tomorrow."

"You don't want to stay for some tea, Auror Potter?" Riddle asked, keeping that mild quality to his voice that did not suit him at all. Even his smile was benign, and it was off-putting to a degree that bothered Harry. He had never liked liars.

"No thanks," he replied shortly, "but I appreciate the offer."

It was horrible and nerve-wracking to turn his back on Riddle so he could leave through the front door and make his way to the edge of the boundary. He didn't think that Riddle would take the chance to throw a hex, or hell, a  _ curse _ at his back, not while he had to be on his best behavior before his trial. The years of Auror training though were enough to make anyone wary of turning their back on the enemy.

Still, Harry made it all the way past the marked boundary lines with no incident, so he supposed that said something. He didn't acknowledge the Aurors stationed at the edge of the wards, disillusioned and hidden from sight. It wouldn't do to tip off Riddle to the fact that there were extra security measures in place that hadn't been mentioned during Harry's briefing.

He glanced back at the house and stilled. Riddle was standing by the window, staring at Harry. Even from this distance, his eyes seemed to gleam with a malicious red tint. Harry's hand tightened around his wand. Riddle had the gall to smirk at him, and Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly behind the frames of his glasses. He tore his gaze away.

Harry spun on his heel and Disapparated back to the Ministry lobby.

*

Tom watched Harry leave with a critical eye, tracing the contours of his body, visible even through the thick red Auror robes that he wore. They did nothing to hide how fit he was. He allowed a smirk to cross his lips when Harry glanced back and then kept their eyes locked without fear, barely hidden distaste clear in them. Harry defiantly raised his chin, his eyes narrowing.

It was a challenge, one that Tom didn’t think Harry was consciously making. He was a Gryffindor. Everything and anything was a challenge to him, Tom included.

Harry Disapparated with a crack, taking his fierce green eyes with him. Tom’s lip curled. He made a soft sound and retreated back to his sofa, relaxing into the plushness of the seat, his eyes falling closed.

He had slipped into Harry’s mind whenever they had met eyes, the younger man's mind as open as it used to be even with his Auror training. Even now, Harry was still abysmal at Occlumency despite Tom's best efforts to teach him 5 years ago.

The thoughts he had found there were, simply put, delectable.

There was the disdain, of course. There was nothing more to be said about how their previous relationship ended—explosively and decisively. That didn't even take into account the fact that Harry had caught him red-handed, or that he was so heavily against the Dark. Even Tom's earlier efforts hadn't been enough to change his mind. Part of it, he was sure, was because of how Harry was raised by Black and his prejudice against the Dark and everything that his family stood for.

And Tom? He was both, Dark and feverishly supported by the better Blacks, and he knew Sirius Black was aware of that. He had seen plenty of thoughts like Harry’s, the ones that made pointed comments as to whether he was  _ truly _ innocent and what he or his followers must have done or would do to ensure he’d get off easy.

But then there was the lust. Tom didn’t need to use Legilimency to see the dislike Harry held for him, to see the way their past tainted their interactions. But even that didn’t hide the undercurrent of desire, the way Harry's eyes caught on his mouth, his hands, his arms.

He was no stranger to the carnal desire others felt for him. Both men and women had thrown themselves at his feet for a chance to be bedded, and this too he had seen in others’ minds. The desire to see him naked, see him laid bare above, below, or on his knees. Fools who thought that he’d lower himself so and submit to those less than he. Those who wanted him to dominate them.

Tom had seen both sides of the spectrum, yes.

But never in such a delicious combination.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge thanksies to luxis for the beta ❤️❤️ 
> 
> ALSO I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO SAY, and **this is important!** 5 years ago, Harry and Tom had a extremely unhealthy, unequal, and emotionally abusive relationship, and if it isn't clear in this chapter, it will be later that Tom took advantage of Harry, and the power imbalance was bad. If that bothers you, tread carefully I guess or stop reading. Harry's a little fucked up from it still.

Harry arrived at the Ministry with a loud crack, his body still thrumming with tension,shoulders tight and drawn up to his ears in a half-formed defensive gesture. As if that was enough to protect him from Tom Riddle. As if anything was.

There was a saying that it was better to have loved and lost. _Bollocks_ , Harry thought. He would have rather not loved Tom Riddle at all. Death was a far better alternative than the pain Riddle had put him through.

So caught in his moody spiral, Harry bumped right into someone. His head flew up, an apology ready, but at the sight of bushy brown hair he immediately relaxed.

"Hermione," he said, relieved.

She was dressed up for work, her robes fitted and formal, clasped high at the throat. She smiled at him, already reaching out with one hand to touch his arm reassuringly, the other held firm over a thick stack of documents.

Harry tried to smile back, but he must have failed because Hermione's light expression faltered. She took a step back and eyed him critically, an up-and-down over his Auror robes, pristine and pressed in a way they normally weren't. He'd deny he had made the extra effort for Riddle, that he had spent almost an extra hour making sure he looked good.

"Where did you come from?" she asked, and Harry said nothing, but his face must have been enough. Her lips went slack and she stared at him in disbelief. "You took it?" she demanded, her voice hushed. "You took the assignment on Riddle's house arrest?"

Harry looked away, his jaw clenched. "Of course I did," he muttered.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded, and Harry could immediately tell that she was gearing up to a lecture, a rant that he didn't want to hear, not now. Not ever.

"Not here," he hissed instead, and her lips thinned but she nodded, brisk and sharp.

"Come along then," she said, already turning away. Harry could do nothing but follow her through the crowd. She walked with purpose, her head held high and confident, and it was so similar to the way Riddle walked, except Riddle infused much more arrogance, a lot more sureness in how he was better than everyone.  Admittedly, Hermione probably wouldn't take that as a compliment,.

They slipped in the lift, Harry sticking close to her. Neither of them said anything. Harry didn't feel up to small talk, but he could sense that Hermione was dying to say something, just barely holding it in. Her furtive glances towards him spoke enough of her state of mind.

The lift opened to Hermione's floor, and the two of them slipped out alongside other witches and wizards in the same robes as Hermione. Quickly, and without speaking still, Hermione led Harry down to the hall to her department. His eyes flicked up, catching the brass sign declaring **Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures** , before Hermione quickly pushed the door open.

He followed her in sedately, hands shoved into the pockets of his robes, and surprisingly, Hermione managed to restrain herself until they had passed by the others and were in the safety of her cubicle. She dropped the stack of documents in her arms, and then took out her wand.

The Muffliato and Privacy charms were only up for a second before Hermione was reeling around to face him, her eyes hard.

"You said you wouldn't!" She hissed, and Harry grimaced. "Why would you even take the assignment on Riddle? You shouldn't be anywhere _near_ him!"

"It's less than an hour every day." He didn't deny that he shouldn't be around Riddle. He knew that well enough.

"An hour too long," Hermione said, and Harry flinched. Hermione's lips thinned and she crossed her arms, shaking her head in disapproval. "Ron said he'd volunteer to do it. And, hell, even if it wasn't Ron, anyone other than you would’ve been better. What were you _thinking_?"

"It wasn't that bad!" Harry argued, just so he wouldn't have to explain that, well, he hadn't really been thinking at all. "He did nothing. He was just…" he trailed off, unsure how to describe the Riddle of mere minutes ago. Unbearably, painfully attractive still? An utter prick?

"The same," he finally decided. "If he actually does something, it'll be because I screwed up, anyway."

"What?" Hermione asked.

Harry gave her a wry grin and tried to joke, "It's always my fault with him." It fell flat, Hermione's expression twisting, and Harry winced.

"You _really_ still think that?" She said. She stared at him in disbelief. "After everything he's done, you still think any of that was your fault?"

Harry said nothing, but his silence must have been enough of an answer because Hermione's face crumpled. She stepped closer towards him and gently took his hands in hers.

"He was so _cruel_ to you, Harry," Hermione said, voice hushed, impossibly soft in the silence between them, and Harry flinched. He tried to pull away, but Hermione held firm and shook her head. She looked heartbroken, the beginnings of tears welling in her eyes, and Harry's gut churned.

"He was incredibly toxic. Harry—"

"Stop," Harry cut off. He yanked his hand away again, but this time, Hermione let him. They stared at each other. Harry's jaw tightened, and he rubbed at his face, dropping his gaze.

"You don't have to tell me, okay?" he said, and he couldn't help his irritated, defensive tone. "I know now. I know _better_. I'm not 18 anymore, and I've had five years to think about it."

Hermione said nothing, quiet for once as she shifted beside him. Harry's chest ached, a painful, relentless throb he didn't want to dwell on. It always ached when he thought about Tom for too long.

"It was a joke, anyway," he said sullenly. Harry didn't know if he believed himself. He turned to look at her, his gaze hard even as something in him shriveled in pain. "I know better than anyone what Tom Riddle is capable of."

"Harry…"

"That's why it has to be me," he declared stubbornly. "I'm the only one who can handle him."

*

"I'm the only one that could handle you," Tom told him. His tone was light and teasing, and Harry didn't know how, but it managed to hit him anyway.

His chest went tight with worry and his smile wavered. Tom laughed at him. ( _Cruelly_ , Harry would think in the future, looking back.) He took Harry's hand in his own to press a kiss to Harry's bruised knuckles. It still stung from the punch Harry had thrown. Who knew what could have happened if Tom hadn't intervened? Harry was glad that Tom had stopped him from embarrassing them both even further. Even if Lestrange had deserved to get punched in the face for that shitty comment.

"You're a mess, darling," Tom continued. "You're an awful lot of trouble, and you should feel lucky I put up with you."

"I do," Harry immediately said, appeasing. Tom liked it when he agreed with him. He wasn't angry with Harry now, but the threat and the bite of it was there, just under the surface of Tom's affection. Harry was on thin ice, and he knew it. "I do feel lucky, really, you're amazing." The words rushed out of him, practiced now. Tom liked it when Harry complimented him as well.

Tom dropped his hand and pulled him in closer until Harry was sitting on his lap, pressed up close against him, their chests touching. Harry wondered if he could feel Harry's heart beating frantically, a worried little thing that Harry tried to soothe before Tom noticed.

"I love you," Harry said nervously, testing for Tom’s reaction. He never knew how Tom would reply. His anger was a mercurial, unpredictable thing, and the uncertainty was always agonizing. "I'm sorry. I'll do better. It won't happen again."

Tom kissed him and said nothing.

*

"Hermione's going to be pissed," Ron said once Harry had gotten back to the Auror Department. Harry paused and blinked at Ron. His friend was sitting on Harry's chair, his feet propped up on Harry's table, but Harry didn't care much. Ron had the Daily Prophet in his hands as well, his eyes narrowed down at it.

"She already talked to you?" Harry asked, confused. He had left Hermione’s office only a few minutes ago, and while Hermione was absolutely brilliant in most things she put her mind to, Apparition in the Ministry outside designated spots was not one of them. "She found out only a few minutes ago."

"Nah, I just figured," Ron said, flipping a page. "How'd she react?"

"I don't think she's mad at you, at least," Harry tiredly replied. He reached up to unbutton and unclasp the top layer of his Auror uniform, slipping it off and resentfully throwing it beside Ron's feet on his desk. Riddle wasn't around to say anything about their crumpled state. Harry didn't care.

"Wait, what?" Ron asked, looking up from the Prophet, his eyebrows furrowed. "Why would she be mad at me?"

Harry stared. "Are we talking about the same thing?" he asked.

"This?" Ron vigorously shook the Prophet. Harry strode towards him, reaching out to snatch it from Ron's grip but Ron pulled it away. "Wait, go back, why would she be mad at me?"

"Because," Harry replied impatiently, and Ron relented, finally giving it to him. "She knows I'm assigned to Riddle's house arrest."

"Ah, fuck," Ron said, and as Harry read the article, he silently echoed it. Fuck, indeed.

PUBLIC CALLS FOR UNDERSECRETARY RIDDLE'S RELEASE

"It's only been one day," Ron groaned. "How could he have gotten this done, already?"

Harry shook his head. "You should be surprised it took him this long. It's been a week since he killed the Minister. This is him currying sympathy for his trial."

"Is there a date set yet?"

"No," Harry muttered, distracted. He scanned the article, his eyebrows furrowed and lips thinned. It was standard fluff, full of praise for Riddle and his contributions to Wizarding Society. There were a few pointed comments as to the Minister's incompetence and activities and Harry scowled. None of that was reason enough to be murdered.

"So how long will you be assigned to him?"

Harry paused at that, and the newspaper dropped down so he could frown at Ron. "I don't know," he said honestly.

Ron's lips pursed. He dropped his legs from the table and shifted in Harry's seat, giving Harry a scrutinizing, intense look.

"Maybe I _should_ ask for it to be reassigned to me."

Harry immediately shook his head. "Ron, you can't take it back. You said I could have it."

Ron sighed. They've already argued about this, and Harry had managed to convince him then. He wanted to prove to himself that everything he had with Riddle was in the past. That he was over it. He needed to actually face the other man to actually do that.

"If you say so," Ron finally said, reluctance pulling at his words.

Harry nodded, determined. "I do."

Ron stared at him silently, and Harry shifted under the strength of his concerned gaze, uncomfortable at the weight of it.

"How was it, then? Earlier?"

Harry's mouth went dry. "It was fine." Not really. But Harry didn't quite have the words for it. It had hurt. He had been angry, but helplessly attracted too because after all this time, Tom was still blindingly attractive.

It just wasn't fair.

His body didn't care that those hands had hurt. His body only wanted those hands on him.

"Alright then," Ron said abruptly, standing up. "That settles it. We're going out for a drink."

"I have to see him again tomorrow," Harry half-heartedly reminded him.

"And? Get your mind off him for tonight. We need to celebrate anyway."

Harry sighed. He followed Ron.

*

"Still not up for a blind date, Potter?"

Harry looked up and gave Draco a blank look.

"This is like, the worst possible time for you to ask," Ron told Draco. Draco look unfazed. He only rolled his eyes and dropped down into the seat across them.

"I found someone your type—"

"Older and an arse—yes, you've pointed out." Harry flushed. It was true, but Draco didn't need to _say_ it, Merlin. "And, no. I'm dealing with enough right now, thanks."

"Ah, right," Draco mused, rubbing at his chin. "Riddle? Or your ex?"

Harry choked, and beside him, Ron patted his back as he wheezed. It wasn't very helpful.

 _Both_ , he thought. They're the same damn person.

But of course, Draco didn't know that. If Harry had his way, Draco wouldn't have even known about his ex, but Hermione and Ron couldn't help themselves, apparently. Ever since then, Draco had been intent on setting him up with someone.

To which Harry always responded with a no.

"Riddle," Harry answered neutrally. Then, in an attempt to change the subject, "Your father must be busy."

"As busy as he usually is," Draco replied, just as neutral. They gave each other thin-lipped smiles. They weren't quite friends, but they weren't quite enemies either. It was a weird in-between that Harry dealt with every time they had to interact with each other. Astoria, though, Harry liked well enough.

"You're 25 now." Draco sniffed, and Harry rolled his eyes. He made it sound as if Harry’s age was a nightmare, but so far, it was great. "When will you start dating again?"

"Never?" Harry joked, but just like earlier with Hermione, it fell flat. The looks that Ron and Draco gave him were far too pitying and Harry scowled at the both of them. "I'm kidding," he said lamely.

He stayed only a few more minutes. They were meant to be celebrating, but Harry wasn't in a particularly celebratory mood. He bid goodbye after he finished his pint and Apparated home.

Harry threw himself onto his cold, lonely bed, and sighed into his pillow. He couldn't even be bothered to change. Wearily, Harry flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his eyebrows drawn, his fingers laced over his stomach.

It wasn't as if Harry was still hung up over Tom. He wasn't, really. He barely even thought of the older man anymore, not if he had to. The proximity was just messing with him.

The memories still hurt, yes, but it was a sharp edge that Harry couldn't help but linger on some days.

With Tom, it had been great when it was good, but when it had been bad…

Harry shook the thoughts away. He could see it better now. Hindsight was 20/20, as they said. He knew now that Tom had been deceitful, manipulative, and controlling. Harry had needed to walk on eggshells around him, always afraid of displeasing his lover and losing Tom's favor. Everything had been Harry's fault then. Tom had been perfect and could do no wrong.

Tom had cut him off from all his friends, Sirius, until it had almost been too late. He had exerted his control over Harry just to prove that he could—or for his own, petty pleasure, Harry didn't quite know. Tom had _used_ him, played him like the fool Harry was.

Worse, Harry had let him. For 2 whole years.

When Harry had walked in on the Minister dead, Tom standing in front of him, there was a part of Harry that hadn't been surprised.

Tom had never been subtle with his appreciation for Dark Magic, not even back then. Magic is magic, he had said to Harry. And Magic is Might. Their last fight had been about that, Harry remembered very clearly.

_There is no good or evil. Just power, and those too weak to seek it._

It was a wonder that it had taken Harry so long to really, truly see him for what he was. A despicable, irredeemable monster who cared for no one but himself.

And yet, and _yet_.

He had loved Tom. He really, truly had. With all his heart, with everything that he had been.

He had loved Tom more than he had loved himself, and that? That had hurt him more than anything Tom could have ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is, um, vaguely in the same AU as blind (to let you go) 😂 kind of. somewhat.
> 
> also, if u want a good tomarry exes + politics fic, i'm going to direct you to SofiaBane's [SweetBrier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391355), which i love and adore a hundred times over

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first tomarry story, and i took it down bcos i felt ugh about it. but!! after a second draft and some feedback, i feel better!! short first chapter to start off ❤️
> 
> -i'm exarite on tumblr as well


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